Pedulum's Rhythm
by AudeTheThird
Summary: An AU of how Milah and Killian meet and run away together, because I haven't seen the official take on it. Sweet, I think.
1. Chapter 1

I know it's being addressed in the show. But I haven't seen it. This is an AU, clearly. Pretty much to the story, though.

Aude

xx

* * *

The first time he saw her, he was nearly blind with drink and had Mr. Smee pulled under one arm for balance. His swagger was pronounced, to put it politely, so when she raised an eyebrow in his direction, it was anything but impressed.

"O'rite luv?" he cooed at her on the way past, digging in his heels enough so that the pirate helping him had to stop so he could leer at her, swaying hard in her direction.

Her smile was not made of nice things, even when it looked so pretty as it did. Her mouth, he noticed, was a natural stained red - she smelt like warm, wet, whiskey, and he leaned in to taste the theory.

"Now, now." her foot came up and landed on his stomach, preventing him from doing anything but jolting forward with a low 'oomph', though for a while he struggled, bending to meet her kiss when he wasn't going to reach it, unsure of why he'd been halted.

She maintained eye contact as she knocked back her drink, tipping her head back slowly to reveal the long line of her throat, the muscles clenching to help the liquor slide down. She resettled herself when a satisfied sigh, put her mug back on the table, and pushed to her feet, sliding near enough to him that he could feel the heat of her skin, scent the wool and leather she wore.

"I'll take your interest as a compliment." she mused, lips curling in that same smile, with the same blankness and boredom charging it. "But I'm out of your league, little boy." she patted his cheek, making his head recoil dramatically.

Mr. Smee wisely chose to say nothing as the woman left the bar, hips swinging like a pendulum's rhythm, offering a polite goodbye to the barkeep before she pulled open the door and left their line of sight.

"Pah." he waved a hand after her. "Goo' riddance. Women! Don' need 'em. Stuck up. Get me t' my ship, Misturrr Smee."

So he did.

* * *

The second time he saw her, he didn't remember her from the bar incident, nigh four months prior. They were on a return voyage past the land and decided to dock a night or two, restock their wares, sample the firm ground, test the women.

He was surrounded by his men - Smith, Smee, Dunce, Peg-Leg Pete, Laurence, Chase, Kong, Aladin, Phil - and was drinking hearty, but not too far gone that he wasn't able to play a decent game of dice. The woman did catch his eye, of course she did, she was only real woman in a bar of drunken sailors and harlots galore. She navigated the crowd with practiced ease, avoiding spilt drink and grabbing hands, gliding over sticky patches on the floor and ducking under stray elbows.

He lost interest in the woman - too far away, at that point - proceeding to clear Kong of his spending money and losing nearly all of it to Phil, the smug arse and his ever growing bronze bits. They were laughing, Laurence chief among them with his massive baritone bellow vibrating through the walls, but he could hear her, clear as day.

"Get your hand _off_ of me."

He glanced around, but he couldn't see trouble.

"You're not enough for me, little boy, best be on your way."

It was like she'd spoken beside his ear, not across the way, over people and glasses banging wood. He straightened, peered into the swell of people, but still couldn't see a thing past shady ladies with tankards in hand and painted smiles on their faces. He relaxed back into his seat, receiving a ribbing from Smith about some crazy lady he'd taken to bed one night and couldn't get rid of for three days after.

"I said on your way!"

Now he ignored the men, got to his feet, brow drawn low. He didn't blink as he swept the crowd, he didn't notice the woman gone from the bar in particular, just felt in his bones something was wrong, glancing right to left, behind him.

"Wassamatter, Cap'in?"

"Can you hear that?" he narrowed his eyes, turned around bodily to check behind him that there was no maiden in dire straights. "That woman's voice?"

"What woman's voice?" Chase just pulled his glass forward and look into it, seeing how much alcohol he'd consumed.

"Get _off_! Stop it!"

"There! There she is again!" he spun on them. "You don't hear her?"

"I don't hear no woman."

He was met by similar denials. For a minute, he listened, attuned to the trouble in which this mystery woman seemed to be in. But he heard nothing more, so he rejoined the lads, who put the paranoia down to nothing more than the howling wind outside.

The bar itself was warm, according to temperature. It wasn't as merry as most, more towards a nose dive in sentiment, but it offered several nice fires and had a decent band to play. The war had ruined this part of the world, the pirates could see, by heavily bandaged men and less than what should've been on the eve of their days off working fields and mines.

"Get your filthy hands-! Get away-! Let me- GO!" she was breathing hard, her voice pitched. "I said NO!"

He jolted to his feet, hand on his sword, charging straight for the door. The men were bewildered - but followed any way, causing the bar keep to think they had dined and dashed. He kicked open the door, listening for her, listening for only for her.

"Jones, you've had too much to drink."

"No, I haven't. I _can _hear her."

"Who?" Chase's shock of fire red hair edged in the corner of his vision. "Jones, what woman are you casing after?"

He glared into the surrounding night like it was the shadows fault for keeping her contained. She wasn't in the bar, he would've seen her if she was. Laurence, their medic, put a large black hand on his brow, which he swatted away with impatience.

"I can hear her. You lot are deaf."

"Oh yeah, definitely us that's the problem." Smith mused in good humor. "You're the only one that can hear-"

She bellowed again, this time damning mothers and invoking gods, promising ruin and pain. She sounded sure of all she said but it was driven by fear and drink as she slurred her words and spat between her teeth swears enough to make any sailor's cheeks go pink.

"Oh." Smith cocked his head. "What do you know. I hear her too."

"Charming vocabulary."

"Bloody told you." he looked around. The cursing was bouncing through the alley beside the bar, reverberating on the walls, which he nodded to. "Let's go see what this's all about, shall we?"

When he rounded the bar's back, he saw her wrench up her boot into a soldier's groin - two men held an arm a piece, hoisting her back as she struggled with them. They were tipsy, bloody nosed and black eyed respectively, while one man cupped himself on the floor, another cracked her about the brow with a backhand full of rings.

The gasped whimper that left her mouth made icy sweat pour down his spine.

"Bad form, to force yourself on a woman." he enunciated, feeling the men swell behind him like a curse. "Bad form again, to have four men to aid each other in such a pursuit."

"Bugger off." he was told shortly. "She's a tease."

"And you're a mistake your mother should've _swallowed_." she goaded, lifting to reveal dazed eyes, a blossoming bruise on her head. Her head rolled back down, sagging sadly.

"See?" the man stepped back, grabbing a handful of her dark hair, yanking her head right back, so her chin nearly pointed upward. "She's only getting what's coming to her."

The resulting fight started because she pulled her fist free of the man's loose, drunken hands, and smacked the aggressor right around the face. But she didn't stop, throwing her elbow back into the man trying to reclaim a grip on her wrist. The pirates well outstripped the men, so it was fair to say it was a quick fight, over and done with in seconds; the trio of tipsy-drunk attackers, all scattered.

He ran to her, pressing his sword under the Adam's apple of the last attacker, cocking a brow at him. He released the woman's hair, making her crash down to the ground, her head butting against his shin. He cut the man, just a little, giving him cause to turn and flee with the others.

"You alright, love?" he sheathed the weapon, taking a step back to kneel before her.

"Just bloody _fine_." her hand was pressed against her head. "They didn't _do_ anything, I could handle it _myself_."

"Of course, darling. Here, put your chin up. Look at me." he reached out for her jaw and guided her face to his with the crook of his forefinger. She lifted with a groan, still holding her head - he braced the ground with both knees, taking the hand away, smoothing dirt from her cheek bone absently with his thumb.

She gazed, mildly confused, as he inspected the bruise on her head, already a magnificent color of blue.

"That'll leave a mark."

"Oh good, you're useful."

He cracked a grin - she returned it, knocking his hand away from her jaw, pressing fingers around the discoloration of her skull. He just snorted, offered her a hand as he got to his feet.

She accepted it, though stood on her own two feet, bringing herself up more than he aided her. She'd taken the hand as to not be rude, not because she needed the help. He'd offered it as a gentleman, but held onto it as less than, bringing the reddened knuckles to his mouth to apply a gentle kiss.

"Killian Jones, if it please the lady." he pressed another over the hot skin just because he could. His fingers were curled against her palm - smoothed by creams and femininity, but hard from a good long day's work or two. "And to whom do I speak?"

She rose a slow brow, the smile on her mouth was proper. Not kind, but made of amusement, of better things. He had a brief memory of the same colored mouth in such a dull mimic of human emotion - he dashed the thought, trained his eyes to focus only on hers.

"Milah." she said, and her hand flexed in his, tightening her grip minutely.

"Milah." he repeated. "Never heard the name Milah before. I like it."

"So do I." she said, her smile further curling.

"Have we-... Have we met, before?" he narrowed his eyes with a playful hum. "I could've sworn I know your face."

"That's because I'm the stuff dreams are made of." she retorted, making him chuckle. "Might I have my hand back, Mr. Jones?"

He pressed another kiss to it.

"Captain." he corrected, and let her fingers away.

He didn't know why there was an echo in him, a cry of coldness, when he let her hand go. She seemed to realize the same, because a line formed between her brows, and she swayed, putting that hand up to her head. He stepped to her as she fell for him, catching her around the waist, both hands pressed against her back in safe territory.

"Easy goes it, darling." he was grinning, but he could feel it smoothing at the corners, feel it tempering down into something less harsh, with less teeth. "Are you truly alight?"

"I'm fine." she said, but her hands were trapped between them, on his chest, fingers lightly digging into his shirt as if to ground herself. "I don't need help."

"If it's all the same to you, love, I think I'll give it anyway." he lowered the timbre of his voice, ducking his head closer to hers. "As a gentleman, of course."

"Of course." she repeated, and the smile now on her mouth was gorgeous, tempting. His eyes flicked to her lips, which made them spread even wider in a smirk worthy of a pirate. "A gentleman, right."


	2. Chapter 2

He had some busty lass on his lap, purposefully grinding back down to his belt buckle. His hands would occasionally stray, and after a teasing squeeze she'd bat his hands and chastise him though it was purred, half hearted, promising him _later, if you pay me right_.

Then he saw Milah come through the door.

He patted the whore's bum, getting to his feet, sort of shoving her in the direction of Smith, who took her arm and guided her into his lap. He winded around the people, stepping in her way, a grin on his face before he knew it.

She startled, then matched the grin, eyes sparkling. The mark on her head had long since faded, but he still looked for it, nearly accustomed to the blue bruise on her brow. He swept into a low bow, taking her hand to press it to his mouth.

"My lady."

"Good sir." she cocked a brow. "You're back."

"I am." he stood, released her hand. "Miss me, did you, love?"

"I was more commenting on the fact that you'd come so soon." she stepped in his personal space, eyes flitting over the lines beside his eyes, the cracks of his mouth. "Not applicable to all things, I hope."

"I come exactly when I mean to, darling." he took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Now let me buy you a drink so I have an excuse to keep you a while longer. You're going to stay a while, aren't you?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"You." she said, and her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

"Do I scare you, Milah?"

She pressed her fingertips deeper into his bicep, making his pulse throb so she could feel it resonate in her bones.

"Nothing scares me, Killian." she returned easily, and waved the barkeep over. "Two of the usual, thank you, Timmy."

He rolled his eyes. He had expecting some kind of sweet drink but Milah wasn't a sweet girl - she was a woman after her whiskey. They knocked back the first mouthful of whatever potent brew they had been served, both tearing up at the burn. She laughed, he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, coughing slightly.

"Gods, that's dry."

"Can't handle the drink, Captain?"

He scowled at her playfully, bumped her with his shoulder. She returned it, laughing into the mug. There was a weariness rolling off her, evaporating into the air as she loosened up in the bar's warmth, her cold melting away.

It was stupid, to think that he was grinning like he was because he'd met her again. After she'd left, all those weeks ago, giving him a charming farewell and wish for easily sailing, he'd been feeling lonely - no amount of rum in the bar would soothe the hollow in his chest. But she was here now, and she was warming, and that was all that mattered to him.

"You'e a very beautiful woman, Milah."

She stopped laughing, but didn't stop smiling, looking at him from under her lashes.

"You're full of pretty lies, Killian."

"I don't often lie." he mused, then ran his hand over her waves of black tresses, like he'd been doing it his whole life. She jolted, softened, leaning into the show of affection with her smile still warm and shoulders relaxing. He cupped her cheek in his other hand, brushing away the excess spill of hair from hiding her face.

"No?" she said, with humour. "Isn't that a part of your job description?"

"I find the truth always serves some purpose. My pretty words are yours to command entirely, my lady, they're made of nothing but the truth. If it weren't for you lighting up the room as you are, they'd be tucked at the back of my tongue, gathering dust." he looked around, as if to demonstrate to her the lack of interesting bar patrons.

"Uh huh." she ducked out from under his hand, knocking back a swig of her beverage. "Pretty words. Very pretty."

"You don't believe you're beautiful?" he scoffed. "It's a travesty. Some man hasn't done you right, love."

"I'd say so." and then the cold came back with gale force winds, and it was wrapped around her like a sheet. Her hackles raised, the drink was downed, and she clapped his back as she stood. "Well. This was nice. Goodbye."

"Wait," he spun in his chair, catching her about the waist. "Milah, wait."

She shot him a look, but it was one part hurt and two parts fury. He didn't like it, this cold, this tough exterior. She wore it like a well tailored armour - all over, everywhere, made to fit, broken in through long days of suffering under the heavy material. He didn't like how comfortable she was in this default state, at all.

"Don't go." he gave her a smile that usually had skirts hitching up around hips. "Come on, darling. Stay a while. I'll buy you another."

"No need." she snatched his drink off the bar and downed that, too, before smacking that on the wood and stepping out of his reach. "Goodbye, Killian."

"Milah?"

He had meant it as a protest, but it sounded weaker than that.

"Milah- what did I say?"

"The truth."

She was a snow queen, all the cold raging storms behind her eyes; he was surprised her red, red mouth didn't tinge blue. She was cold, and she was hard, icy, dripping freezing water as she twisted and disapeared through the crowd, without so much as a 'thank you for the drink'.

* * *

The next night saw him occasionally glancing at the door for her to arrive. She did, more in the morning than the evening, already drunk, her lids half lowered over her eyes and a pink lip color on her mouth. He put his cards down, moved around Peg-Leg, who just grunted and tried to suck his belly in to make his life easier.

He didn't care, much, he just went to the woman and took her hand.

"Oh, you're still here." she drawled, her head rolling loosely on her shoulders. "Thought you'd be gone. Good. I'm glad you're still here." she caught his wrist and tugged him to put an arm about his waist, her chin planted on the centre of his chest.

"Milah, love-"

"Shush," she said simply, and dragged him down by the back of his head. She pressed her mouth on his, fingers digging into his scalp, tasted how harsh and biting her kiss was, even when it was simply lips and tangled fingers. She made a pleased noise, a noise he'd quite like to coax from her many, many more times, but the second he relaxed, leaned into the kiss, she pulled back, let his head out from under her hands.

She stepped back, finding the edge of a table and leaning against it heavily, her expression bored and casual brow raised. She withdrew from her pocket a lipstick, and dabbed some pink back onto her lips.

He blinked, then cracked a wolfish grin.

"What was that for?"

She shrugged, returned a pink, cheeky smile, eyes lighting up.

"You've got a nice mouth, Killian." she said with the kind of nonchalance as she might discuss the weather. "I wanted to see if it might be useful for something other than flirting."

"I never talk a game I can't follow through on, darling." he purred, and framed her face in his hands, wiping an errant smudge of pink with his thumb, hemming the line in nicely. "If you'd like to test that theory further, I'd be more'n happy to oblige you, my lady."

She clicked her tongue at him, leaning into his palm, pressing her mouth against his hand. Her teeth pinched his skin, shooting goosebumps up the connected viens, spreading through his chest like a burst of warm water. He eyed the pink lips smeared on his skin and imagined them trailing over his chest, south of the boarder, leaving evidence as to every where they touched.

"I have to go home." she told him.

"I'll take you."

She laughed again, swaying, he head tipping back. He couldn't help himself, he stepped into her space and tasted her skin, sticky and salty with sweat, but so, so good.

"I have to go." she repeated, but her legs opened so he could step in between them, bundle her up in arms and suckling mouth. He tucked one leg around his hip, leaning her bum against the table for balance. He pressed more tightly against her, so warm, and smelling so edible, rolling a devious tongue over her exposed collar bone.

"Then why-" he dragged his stubble up her throat. "-Did you come here?"

"You wanted me." she purred in return, running short nails over his shoudlerblades, swaying to and fro. "Are you staying much longer?"

"Tomorrow evening, at most. Have to leave before the sun sets." he tried to catch her mouth again, but she leaned back, away from it, chuckling like a cat who'd just eaten the canary and made the bird beg for more. "You've worked some kind of magic over me, woman." he accused in a low voice, a grin spreading on his mouth, still pressed against her cheekbone.

"Hardly." she cooed, and unwound herself from him. Almost too quickly for his liking, she pulled away, resting hands on his chest, her fingers hooked in his shirt to pull it forward to sneak a peek at his body. He just chuckled, let her do so, moulding his hands to the lovely curve of her waist.

"I love that you have hair on your chest." she told him, and ran a sharp fingernail through it, following it with a sticky pink kiss. "It's very attractive."

"Now who's full of pretty words?" he pressed her hands closer, ran them down so she could feel the cut of his ribcage, the tense belly and trail of hair there, too. "I could show more, if you'd like to remove this conversation to someplace a bit less... Crowded."

"Hmm." she mused, and pulled him down into another kiss, one he readily accepted. She didn't part her lips for him, even though he nearly begged for it, she just laughed, tipping her head back for him to carry on sucking her throat, never letting him stay in one place too long, lest he leave a mark that wasn't made of lipstick.

"Give me time." she said, and ran her hand over his hair.

"How does a minute sound?" he had began to lip at her chest - she sighed her pleasure, arching up into it, damning her decency.

"Perhaps a few more." she grinned, and leaned away. He didn't like it, letting her out of his arms. But she seemed to want to come back, seemed like she was going to turn around and return to him - before he saw her walk straight out the front of the bar, he was certain her swinging hips were promising the world, not an empty bed.

He chased after her, of course, frowning out into the night, but she was gone.

"What's chasing you?" Phil mused, patting his shoulder. "You look like you're going to slay a man, Captain, my Captain."

"Not a man." he muttered, and cocked a brow at the bard. "Have you a reason to be out here, Coulson?"

"I needed a breath of freash air." the elder man replied, and produced from his pocket, a pipe. "Care to join me?"

He shrugged a shoulder, disappointed. There was an uncomfortable - not yet painful, but getting there - weight in his trousers he didn't particularly want to admit to. But being between Milah's thighs had lit a fire in him, one that burned brighter than any flame he'd known.

* * *

That night, when he kicked the leather from his legs, he heard a click on the floor that shouldn't have been there. He picked the trousers up, brow furrowing slightly, and found something in his back pocket, something he withdrew and cocked a brow at.

He could be as cross as he liked with the woman, but she intruiged him, beguiled him, like a charmer before a snake; he wanted to bite, to have venom with her, but she wove some kind of rythmic challenge he couldn't help but rise to. She was sassy, she was a neat drunk, she was all sorts of pretty curves and sharp words and fierce blue eyes.

He turned the lipstick over in his hands before setting it beside his bed, further stripping clothes while he contemplated as to what it might mean, what she might've been trying to say by leaving it with him.

The best case scenario: she'd have to come back for it.

Worst: she was telling him he looked good in drag.


	3. Chapter 3

She found him the next day at the docks, bent double over a crate, talking in low voices with Chase. He hadn't noticed her until Chase had, and heaved a sigh, sitting back from their conversation, knowing it was as good as done.

"Alright, love?" he said smoothly, but she was already all kinds of warm and half cocked. She rose a slow brow at him, swung aside to reveal a thin blonde boy, one eye shut tight. He'd been nearly clutching her skirts, looked as though a stiff wind might knock him over, bones protruding in sad places like his collar and elbows.

"This is Willhelm Cropft." she said with a wide smile. "I want you to take him in."

"And why," he drawled, looking over the scrawny youth. "Would I do that?"

"He's a good listener, and has a keen eye." she promised him with eyeleashes fluttering. "And if you did this for me, I'd be inclined to owe you a favour."

"A favour." he stood, assessing the lad more critically. A favour? Like what? What exactly was he supposed to do with her favour? She was no whore - there were no physcial favours he might call. But to be owed a debt by this woman... this woman, who worked him over like steel to a blacksmith, may yet come in handy.

"He isn't strong enough." Chase offered flatly. "He's scrawny."

"He'll grow." Milah said smoothly, making the red head shift on his seat, his usual lack of grandeur with women even more pronounced. "As all boys do. He needs to be fed and to be looked after. An honest enough job and friends to have his back."

"And what of his family, hm?" he cocked both brows at the boy, who flinched, and rolled his eyes, turning his back to the mere child. "You think I'm going to steal a runaway and have him regret my leniance when he grows up?"

"I'm-...I'ma orphan, mister, ser." the boy said nervously, voice still unbroken, still child-like, run through with innocence. That made a cold stone drop in the pirate's stomach - he turned back, softer than before, squinting at the boy's face, realizing that under all the dirt and the floppy blonde hair, the lad was little more than a baby.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Tw-welfe."

He narrowed his eyes. The boy gulped.

"Nine, ser."

He watched the lad shift his weight, hiding half behind Milah before leaning away, straightening.

"I is smart, I learn quick, I's only got one eye, bu' swear, it's sharp...T' king took the other 'coz I seen-..." he hiccuped, choked on the words. "I seen somethin' I shouldn't, is all."

He could almost feel Milah's eyes boring a hole into him, making him look the boy over again. He was tall, for nine - if he didn't know so many growing boys he would've fallen for the lie just by gauging his lengthy limbs. There was a sweetness about his face, no matter how gaunt and pale and dirt-crusted it was. He was a little boy, a baby, and Milah was a woman who was giving him over as a challenge.

"Hope you've no fear of heights." he said flatly. "Because you'll man the crow's nest." he gave Milah a flat look: _'hah, challenge accepted'._

She was unimpressed - she knew he'd do it.

"Well, I'm glad you have such a decisive captain." she cocked her head, and smiled naughtily at him. "Where's my lipstick?"

"In my cabin." he reclined against the crate, an unwanted smile on his mouth. _What the hell're you doing, man? Tell the bloody woman off. _"You can come with me and get it."

"How ungentlemanly of you, to invite a woman into your bedchambers." she scolded lightly. "And in front of your youngest recruit too. No, no. I'll be going. My work here is well and truly done." she caught Willhelm's shoulder and squeezed lightly. He gulped nervously, but nodded.

"Thanks be t' you, ma'am." he said, with an eye full of wet gratitude. "And 'pologies, s'well, fer... ya know..."

"Right." Chase stood, rolling up maps and scrolls. "You, get over here and carry these. I'll stomp out that talk of yours if it's the last thing I do. No recruit of mine is going to speak in bad grammar."

"I pity you." Killian told him mildly. "Better do as he says fast as you can, lad, he's been on my case for nigh bloody years."

"And I'll keep at it until you can construct a decent sentence." Chase's grey eyes stared a hole into the back of the Captain's skull, which was ignored as he smiled at Milah. "Move it, William."

"Willhelm." the boy corrected meekly, and glanced at the Captain, who shrugged.

"Split the difference. We'll call you Will. On with you, then."

The boy did an awkward almost salute and twitched bow, before holding his arms out for Chase to load him up with scrolls and papers. He was nearly tipping the man's shoulder already - he'd be taller still when he had some food in him.

Milah had already made her way, undetected, to the end of the pier, making him jog to catch her. She didn't turn to acknowledge him, but she did smirk.

"I'll call my favour now, then." he gave her face a side long grin. "I want you to spend an hour with me."

"And how exactly do you propose we spend this hour?" she mused, without a single falter in her stride. Until he stepped in her way and caught her in his arms in the middle of a fishing yard, completely unahashamed. She looked around but no one there knew her - she would've marched on to home if he hadn't held her still.

His grin was wide, inches away from her smile.

"I don't know what you've done to me." he told her in a dangerous sounding purr. "But I find I don't mind it. Spend the hour with me and I'll give back that pretty lip colour without a fight."

"Maybe I like the fight."

"Maybe I'll give you something equally as satisfying."

She pursed her lips, raised a smooth brow.

"One hour. I'll lead."

"Lead to where, darling?" he ran his hand over her hair again, and again, it was as though she was made to fit there, in his embrace, with her raven's wing soft locks under his touch.

"Someplace a little less crowded." she mused, and took his hand.

He tried not to be too excited about what that might mean, and allowed her to keep his fingers, not even noticing the way he actively held her hand in return. She smiled over her shoulder, a cheeky school girl leading him behind a tree for a quick kiss when no one was to look. He'd never been to school, but he'd done enough wooing over the years to imagine that particular fantasy with precise distinction.

She lead him up a slight incline, toward a thicket of trees, away from any building or person, which rung true in him that they were going somewhere private.

"What did that boy mean, that he was sorry?"

"He tried to steal from me." she replied easily, not bothering to looking behind her.

"'Tried'?"

Her smile was coy.

"I'm not exactly used to being a genlte maiden when challenged."

"Something I think is going to get the both of us in trouble." he mused, and chuckled, squeezing her fingers.

He watched her navigate a path through high grass with out flinching. She must've been here before, because she caught his chest before he stepped into a deep dip that she couldn't have possibly seen.

"Where is this?" He looked around - to high grey branches and emerald leaves, creating a rooftop of green. There were birds but further away, chirping a merry song. No bugs that he could see, but a little tree creature with a curly tail darted across their path and skipped up a trunk.

"This is where I go to be alone." her voice was serene, warm and easy. Her hair was bouncing and shiny- he had the most vivid visions of grabbing handfuls of it, and burying his face in it come an early Sunday morning.

"But you're bringing me here?"

"You weren't specific about how we used the hour." she chortled, actually chortled, at him. "It's as good a place as any."

"Does it have a bed and rum?"

"Better than a bed. And no rum. I'm hungover as is."

He grinned at the back of her head as they broke through the trees, and saw a long blue length of water, fed by only a trickle of a river somewhere high above them, falling slowly like diamonds splitting in the air. There were large flat rocks perfect for bathing in the sun, and a small outlet where the lake dripped to meet the ocean, which they could only just distinguish against the horizon line.

"I realize you wanted to be naked," Milah said casually. "So I'm giving you an excuse to get naked."

"I think that you and I could be very good friends." he was already undoing the belt around his hips, then the one about his thigh, with eager fingers. "If you read me so easy."

"I'm keen to see more of your chest, you tease."

"Oh? I do beg your pardon, my lady." he paused, raising his brows. "I didn't mean to tease. I thought myself more a shameless flirt."

"That too." she tugged one knot at her spine that allowed her chest to expand. She took a deep breath in, toing her shoes from her little feet, before unrolling her stockings and taking a length of cord at her wrist to tie her hair ontop of her head.

He pulled his shirt up over his head, kicked off his boots, watching her all the while as she turned from him with a knowing grin, disposing of her corset and shirt. Her spine had a wonderful curve, a kink towards the end, where her hips spanned out. A stray black curl graced the back of her neck.

He disposed of his leathers and put his hands on her hips, feeling rather than seeing the raised welts where she had once grown too big for her skin. She tensed all over, waiting for something, her hands at the ties on her side. He pulled one lazily, fingers lightly brushing hers, his mouth pressing on the hard line of her shoulder. He tasted her skin, inhaled at her pulse, feeling her bend and lean open for him.

It was a wonderful thing, to have this woman, made of hard lines and strength, go soft and pliant under his touch.

"I would promise I won't peek," he murmured. "But I'm going to do it any way."

"An honest pirate, if I've ever met one." she put a hand over the one at her hip, nails scratching lightly over his knuckles.

He hummed lowly, dragging his nose up her throat, to her jaw, pressing a careful kiss there, before he unknotted the ties at her skirt, squeezed her hip in his hand, and stepped around her, wading into the water. He only looked back once she was waist deep, the water distorting her body. Her hands cupped her breasts in perhaps a seductive way - they looked bigger, the way she held them.

He swallowed, splashed some water over his shoulder, sunk, so that his chin was at the water line.

"I think, love," his eyes wouldn't leave the line her bunched chest made. "You 'n' I, could be very good friends."

"You've said that."

"I believe it." he lifted his gaze to her face, her amusement, her humour. "You're-... Not like, any other woman I've ever met."

"Good." she sunk, pushed off from the ground to swim a lap around him, flashing skin and suggestive hints of shadows and shapes. "I've always been different."

"And aren't I bloody glad you are?" he waded back a little further, treading water. She rubbed her shoulders, her stomach, self conscious without meaning to be. He licked his lips and cocked a grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "Like what you see, darling?"

"Eh." she shrugged, non commital.

He scowled playfully at her.

"If you like, you could come and touch."

"In that order?" she poised it like such an innocent question, he couldn't help but crack a laugh, head tipping back.

* * *

Her hair spilled over his shoulder, dark waves, loose, wet, and free. She had a hand up on a hot rock drawing wet, rapidly disolving lines into the stone, fingers poised like dainty spiders. And he didn't know how or why, but his hand was creeping towards her like a crab.

Both scuttling, nervous, armed in case of attack - she with teeth enough to leave a nasty bite and he with skin made thick over time. But she was soft, letting him skim over her wrist and link their fingers, no fangs or hard shell needed.

His thumb brushed her wedding band. He chose to ignore it, and she twisted it away with her other hand, hiding the small white stone, ashamed, in her other hand.

"He doesn't do you right, if you are always here."

"He can't do anything." she said, her tone morose. "He's a coward, and a cripple, and he was useless as a lover even before that."

"Perhaps you frighten him, Milah."

"I do." she said sharply, and looked him dead in the eye. "I try to goad him into fighting with me so he might grow a backbone but he gives me nothing, he just agrees. The man is full to the brim of self loathing and weaknesses-" she cut herself short, unwinding her hand from his to retract it to her person.

Clearly, she'd thought these thoughts too many times over.

"You _are_ more than an ordinary woman." he drawled, and chased after her hand, curling fingers around it almost protectively, hidden under the water. "An arranged marriage?"

"He was never going to have any one if it weren't arranged." she mumbled. "And what would I have known? I was seventeen, no one wanted me and my mouth."

"I happen to think your mouth is possibly the best part of you, love." he pressed a gentle kiss to the hinge of her jaw. "It's a lovely mouth, indeed."

She turned away from him, her cold shields coming up again.

"Don't do that." he was turning her head back to his before he could stop himself. It was far and beyond him, why he would care. "You shouldn't hide your eyes from me."

"Why not?"

"Because you're too fierce a woman to do so." he retorted boredly. "You deserve more, Milah. Adventure. Travel. Beauty. Good sex. All at once, love. A pity you think you have to chose between." he picked up her hand, kissed the pale band where her ring had been for so long.

"I'll talk to the men about staying a while longer. We should be able to stay docked for a few days more, before the ants start to march."

"The ants...?" it was the first time he'd ever heard her unsure of something.

"'The ants are on the march'. It's a sailing term. When we - us with the sea in our blood - when we stay on land too long, we start to feel the need to sail."

"You get antsy." she smiled in such a way that he thought she may have swallowed the sun. "I guess that means my ants have been on the march for nearly sixteen years, then."

"That's too long for that march." he said firmly. "Run away with me."

"I have-"

"Duty? Your husband? A fief to run? It doesn't matter. Leave it. Leave it all behind, and run away with me." he moved close to her then, intimately with out being raunchy, despite their nakedness, the attraction simmering under his skin. "I don't know what you've done, love, to make me think this is a good idea. But you've done it. And I want you to come away with me."

"You just want-"

"I just want you." he said simply, and lifted a wet hand to her hair. "Trust me, darling, I know the difference between wants. I know what it means to be denied and chase a skirt but your skirt isn't what I'm chasing, here. I'm chasing the rest of you, too."

"You don't even know me." she accused softly.

"But I want to. I want to know all of you." he didn't know where the romantic nonsense was coming from, but he could see it was having an affect on her. It was affecting _him_, these words, tumbling so easily from his lips. He'd always been a bit of a romantic, but he'd always limited that to flowers and trinkets, not honest words.

"Killian... You don't understand- the, the entirety, of my situation."

"You're unhappy, Milah. That's what I know. That's what I see. When you come to the bar you're wrought of ice."

He pulled her up against him, brushing each limb against her equal. His hands framing her face, thumbs on her cheeks, and he bent to meet her eyes, daring and defiant.

"I could take you away without any consequence." he promised her lowly, and she snorted her disbelief. "I could. I want you, Milah. I've had no lass to your standard since I met you. And it's making me _insane_."

"Oh, stop it, like you haven't-"

"You're all I think about." he planted a kiss on her then, sucking her tongue into his mouth, before continuing, puncturing each word with a nip or a kiss or a squeeze of his hands. "You're all I can taste on my tongue, a craving I can't sate... Just a mere swallow, just a lone lick, a kiss, and you _leave me_."

"I'm not falling for-"

"You're like a ghost, slipping through my fingers, everytime I think I have you, you disappear out of my arms, and it _burns_ me, eats me up that I can't just yank you to me and just _hold you_."

"It's not working." she protested mildly, through she gulped, and he chased the clenching muscels with his mouth. "Whatever you're trying to do, it's not-"

"And I dream about you. I dream that you're mine, that you wear my clothes and sleep in my bed, that you have no worries, that you don't wear your armour made of ice, you don't school your tongue because you no longer have to - you live with me on my ship and you love it. You love it, you're free and you're beautiful, and you're with _me."_

"Killian." she pressed trembling finger to his mouth, which he hastened to kiss, to draw in and ran his tongue over. "You're- just - stop..."

He shook his head, pulled her closer, kissed the side of her hand then her wrist.

"You're all I want, Milah." he swallowed. "And I will fight for you."

* * *

They'd barely refrained from making love in the water, just managing to contain their attraction to hot kisses and sliding naked skin against skin. She never pushed, but she challenged him by being his equal. Was it any wonder she hated her husband as she did, when her pride had to match that of a cripple and a coward?

She'd started by keeping a vigilant eye on the lad - but Laurence, gentle soul he was, had taken him under his wing and introduced him to the rest of the crew. He was a spritely thing, eager to please, laughing at all the jokes - whether they flew over his head or not. Milah had taken an empty leather pouch from her hip and fashioned him an eyepatch with a needle and very little thread.

He wore it with a distinctive pride.

Then they had gone for the lipstick, and in all of three seconds, they'd clashed and came together like forces of nature in their own rights. There was passion, and a little bit of rawness, in them, in their coupling - she left sometime later, with his narrowed eyes darling any man to make a negative word.

They didn't, not until she was well out of sight.

She'd returned the next morning, before the sun had even risen, for rounds two and three. Exhausted, they lay together, sleepy and trying to stir enough energy for round four.

"Milah." he kissed her hair. "Tell me what frightens you."

"What frightens me?" she had her eyes closed, her breathing easy. "I'm not frightened of anything. I told you."

"You are. Everyone has one thing or rather."

"You?"

"I don't like being alone." Loneliness was a demon that he'd battled for years. He could endure it and hide it, but it was the worst kind of battle to fight, because there was never anything to fight. It was like taking blind swings in pitch black.

"What of you, though?" he prompted, and drew lazy fingers up her side. "Spiders?"

"No."

He pondered.

"Wolves?"

"No."

"What about snakes?"

"I behead snakes on a regular basis, to protect my son."

"Oh?" he guided her head up with his nose. "How old?"

She was quiet, before she pulled away, not bothering to take the sheets with her.

"Milah, love-"

"I need to go." she pulled on her wedding ring, making a point of putting it on before clothes, flashing it in his direction like he didn't already know of her vows.

"Milah-" he pounced, pulling her back on he bed, sheet tagling around his body while she struggled against him. She wiggled, made a crude noise, then settled, looking to the side in her shame. "Milah, look at me, darling. I know you've a son."

She glanced at him from under her lashes, frowning.

"I can tell by your hips, love. By the marks on you." he pressed a kiss on the hollow of her throat. "A tiger earned her stripes. It makes no difference, to me."

"Well it does to me." she said tightly, and he could see her icy shields were coming up again. "You have no idea how different this actually makes us, Killian. Let me go."

"No."

"Let me go."

"No."

"Killian-"

"You've told me already, and I've already answered. Just because you ask again doesn't mean my answer will change." he swallowed. "I think that I may be unable to let go of you, Milah."

It wasn't what he said that undid her, it was _how_ he said it. So promising, so truthfully, like she was asking him to let her pull his lungs out of his mouth and to be happy about it. So she softened, and ran her hand over the side of his face, pausing at his brow, cheekbone, and mouth.

"I think," she said thickly. "That things just got very complicated, very quickly."

"They don't have to be." he murmured. "Just come away with me. I'll steal you out from under your ugly old husband. We can be together, you and I. And we'll raise your son-"

"No." she pressed fingertips on his lips before he could utter offended protest. "He's too good for either of us. Trust me. He's a saint. He'd never abide by anything you do. He'd rather starve than eat stolen food. My boy... is made of all the best parts of me. Which is why I have none left."

"Took them all on the way out, did he?" Killian's humour was short.

He wouldn't mind a lad on board. Will could have a friend his own age, and stop making dirty jokes he had no business making. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, ground against her, making her open up to him, sigh into his mouth. He was quickly becoming distracted from the initial goal - by his own fault, of course - so he pulled back, settled his weight more firmly over hers, as if to keep her grounded.

"Now you listen to me, darling." he framed her face with both hands, running his thumbs ove his cheekbones. He loved touching her. She was like a kitten when petted, a tiger when left alone. Like him, she feared lonliness, and he didn't need her to say it out loud to have it confirmed. "You don't want to leave me. I don't want you to leave. So the solution is..."

"Don't make it sound easy when it isn't." her eyes were blown so wide, with so many rolling emotions. "It isn't easy. I can't just leave."

"Why not?" he whispered, and peppered tender kissed across her brow, her cheek, and jaw. "Milah... Milah, love... Just because society says it shouldn't be, doesn't make it so."

"He's my son. And my husband - he's not all bad. He's just-"

"A coward. An old man. A loveless man. But a good father, you said. Leave the man raise your son."

"He's - crippled. How could I-?"

"You just leave." he swallowed her protesting and nuzzled her ear, running his nose over the cartilage. "Just leave with me. It could be so easy, if you let it be."

"It's not easy-"

"True love conquers all, doesn't it?" he cocked a brow down at her.

She froze, but she was still warm between his arms.

"True love." she repeated slowly. "Why do you say true love?"

"Because that's what I think I feel." he murmured, and he could see it, see her won over. She the promises of adventures churning behind her eyes, he could see her walls of ice being shut all the way down. He could see her envisioning the glory of freedom, of open waves, of him and his bed.

"Come away with me, Milah." he murmured into her throat.

"Killian..."

"I could learn to love you, if you gave me time to do so."

"I just..."

"Milah Jones." he mused. "Is a bloody good name, for a pirate."

And that was the nail in the coffin that sealed the deal.

* * *

Milah had a friendly arm around the boy, who was already so much better than when she'd bought him to the ship. They were collectively watching the land drift away in the dark - Killian had to actively steer for a little while, assure his men that they would be perfectly safe.

He kept an eye on them both, how weary and careful they were together, both newcomers to the ship and to the life of piracy. They would be bonded, he knew, over leaving home. The boy was wiping his eye - Milah let him have his pride and didn't mention it.

The rest of the crew weren't so keen to have the woman on board, but they'd been promised equal parts of his cut until they were comfortable with keeping their opinions and taboos to themselves, away from her ears. They walked around her in a wide arc, which she noticed, but preferred.

Killian gave the wheel to Chase, stepped up behind them, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder and an arm around his woman.

"Any regrets?" he mused, to one or both, he didn't care who answered.

"Not a one." Will said happily, and beamed up at him.

"What he said." Milah said quietly, and pressed a salty kiss on his cheek. "Let the adventure begin."


End file.
